Into The Fire
by shattered petal
Summary: He stood to his feet and sat on the edge of the sofa, eyes fixed towards his prize, blood imprinting the box whilst he pulled the lid off like a hungry child breaking into a tin of cookies. -Royai


**author's note**: A take on how Roy would cope if Riza Hawkeye didn't survive The Promised Day, if at all. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this.

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><p><strong>Title<strong>: Into The Fire  
><strong>Genres<strong>: Friendship/Angst  
><strong>Rating<strong>: K+  
><strong>Couple<strong>: Royai (Roy/Olivier friendship)

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><p>The door was ajar.<p>

Either Roy Mustang was a laid back man who didn't care much for privacy, or he was very distracted. From a few metres away, Olivier heard him rummaging around the apartment, searching frantically for items and treasures he was desperate to hide. She silently reached the door and peeked through the gap, sharp blue eyes watching the lost man pry open his cupboards, scrunching up pieces of paper and throwing them into the ferocious fire.

His face was flushed, eyes –– which had been cured several hours ago –– rapidly darting here and there. He collapsed to his knees and pulled back the carpet, his muscles tensing from the heavy material, before finally he could reach the floorboards. Mustang exhaled slowly, stopped, wiped his nose with his sleeve and then began to pry apart the wood.

Splinters scratched his rough flesh. He growled furiously, desperately heaving back the floorboard before ripping it off and throwing it elsewhere. At once he was onto the next, his jet black hair falling over his forehead whilst sweat embedded his face. He stopped to rest. His body was fragile, and his heart needed a break.

However Roy refused to wait. Olivier continued to watch, mouth slightly agape, shocked by this horrific sight of a gentleman who wanted to be a leader; a ruler. He _was_ a leader. The man was a King, but his Queen had been snatched, murdered before his eyes, and he was _broken_. A King was nothing if he didn't have his Queen. The moment that blade slashed across her throat, the chessboard was thrown across the room, smashing into the wall and bleeding marble.

Roy Mustang _screamed_ for her. Tears threatened to escape his eyes, but he managed to hold them in –– _just_. By the time he reached the woman she was dead. Lifeless in his arms and all Mustang could do was hold her close, gasping for breath. Shock was an understatement to how he felt. No emotion fit. His heart smashed and there wasn't a way to glue it back together.

Nothing. Roy was lost.

His hands grabbed hold of something beneath the ground: a silver container. He stood to his feet and sat on the edge of the sofa, eyes fixed towards his prize, blood imprinting the box whilst he pulled the lid off like a hungry child breaking into a tin of cookies. Roy sighed, as if finally content, and removed a small, black bag from within. He clenched it in his fist and inhaled slowly, closing his eyes, biting his lower lip.

That was when Olivier began to walk away.

'Who's there?' Roy yelled, shooting to his feet and slipping on his glove. It wasn't needed. Mustang would soon be capable of performing Alchemy without a helping hand, but, for now, he was acting on the safe side. _Did it really matter if it worked or not? _'Show yourself.' He was furious, his index finger and thumb already attached, prepared to snap.

He growled and strode out of the apartment confidently.

'I swear if you don't reveal yourself I'll burn you until––'

Roy stared at the figure before him. The North Commander had only taken several steps, before stopping, deciding if he so wished to be a fool and burn her so be it. However Mustang was frozen. It took him a moment to lower his hand.

'What are _you_ doing here?' He wasn't pleased, nor shocked. Just a mess of confusion.

She didn't answer at first, eyes gazing forwards, muscles relaxed. Olivier knew he wouldn't harm her.

'I was worried about you.' A simple confession but to hear such from _her_ lips was unusual. However Roy didn't notice.

'We all lost someone special to us.' Roy's voice was rough and spiteful, and he wished it wasn't. He _hated_ being this way. 'I don't need someone to _worry_ about me!' His lower lip began to tremble, and he ran a hand down his face, inhaling deeply. 'If you can handle a loss, why can't I?'

'Because you're not like me.'

His brows furrowed. She upset him. She upset him because she was right. Somehow Olivier was _always_ right, ever since they met when they were both toddlers, fighting over who should have the wooden sword, or who should play Knight. It upset him. He was like a little boy, upset because he wasn't correct. Roy wanted to be _right_ for once.

Why did she have to be better?

When Armstrong turned to face him she didn't recognise who he was. This wasn't Roy Mustang. This was a pitiful, broken hearted man. His face was torn with emotions, and his eyes were _dead_. He was a ghost. Irrelevant and unloved because he was _nothing. _What kind of King didn't have a Queen? Roy was a joke.

His throat tightened. This was unfair. How dare she come over and watch him weep? Mustang prepared hiomself to hear harsh advice from her: mourning over the death of a soldier was worthless. But if she dared criticise him–– Roy would make her sorry.

She didn't speak.

Roy craned his neck back, before slumping his shoulders and returning to the safety of his apartment. After a beat, Olivier followed him and closed the door, watching the man grab a bottle of whiskey.

'Want a drink?'

'No.'

He shrugged, and took a swig. Mustang allowed the alcohol to burn his mouth and numb the pain. The liquid scolded his throat and he had to engorge more. Roy closed his eyes, and slammed the bottle onto the table, pausing for breath. His head felt lighter.

'The way she looked at me.' A smile, gentle, pulled at his lips. Mustang opened his eyes, removed his gloves and slumped onto the sofa. He blinked. 'Riza was ready to die; she knew she was going to die and she did so without fear. I could never be like that.'

Olivier was silent.

'It's me.' Roy sniffed, curling his lips. His voice lowered to a whisper. 'It's my fault.'

He rose his gaze to meet hers. The blonde didn't falter. Just watched.

'She made a promise. We were like this.' He gestured towards Olivier. 'I sat behind my desk, and she stood proudly over me, and made a pact to follow me.' And then suddenly Mustang's heart stung. He lowered his head, defeated, allowing Olivier to feel satisfaction that the one rival she so wanted defeated was, indeed, losing. 'She said...' Tears sparkled in his eyes, and he made such an effort to not cry. Olivier hated the sight. '... She'd... follow me into Hell.' He nodded. 'And she stuck by her word.'

Silence.

'I could have convinced her to walk away. I had the power to remove her; dismiss her from my life.' A tear escaped his eye, and rolled down his cheek. His voice was strong. 'She stayed with me, because I didn't want to go on alone.' He looked up, finally meeting Olivier's gaze again. Roy, for once, didn't care if she were judging him. He didn't care he was opening up before her.

For a few seconds Roy was unable to speak. He rose his chin, forcing back a cry, his throat aching, desperate to erupt the scream he desperately wanted to release. _I want her back. _

Then the tears came, and Olivier shook.

Roy Mustang –– her _friend _–– was crying.

'You understand, don't you?' Maybe it was rhetorical. It didn't matter. Roy had completely silenced the stoic woman. He curled his lips, trembling, fighting. He was strong enough to do so. Mustang _was_ a powerful man. He could handle this. 'I think some of us aren't meant to be with anyone though. Maybe... maybe...' He frowned, as if in thought. 'Maybe some of us were always supposed to be alone.'

And then he shook his head, chuckling, amused.

'I was going to ask her to marry me.'

Olivier looked away. Something pinched her heart furiously, and made it bleed. She couldn't face him.

Then Roy Mustang found his feet and walked forwards, back straight, tears in his eyes. A sigh escaped his lips, and he rose his head, inhaling.

With care, the Colonel opened his little black bag and delicately removed a silver, simple ring, a small jewel attached to the end. When Olivier's eyes found it, she could only stare. Roy Mustang was not lying. He was honest and this hurt. She _wished_ he had been lying.

The ring remained between his index finger and thumb. He held onto it gently, before passing it towards his friend. She still wasn't able to find his eyes.

'Hide this from me. I don't care what you do with it, Olivier, but don't ever allow me to find it. I'm trusting you to keep me sane.' He took hold of her hand and placed the jewel into her palm. His breath trembled, and he inhaled again. 'The next train to the North is in half an hour. If you're quick you'll be able to catch it.'

She hid the ring from view, her fingers curling over it. Mustang smiled at her, and understood she was confused. He appreciated the fact she _cared_. And he couldn't ask anything more from her.

'Thank you,' Roy whispered, before abandoning the tiny room.

For once in Olivier's life, she was cold. She shivered beneath her military uniform, then covered her mouth with her hand, stopping the tears.

Seconds later she, too, left, the blazing fire diminishing her presence.


End file.
